


take me to your holy places

by penelopes



Category: Men's Basketball RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Facials, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Slutty Steph, Steph Curry Gets Dicked Down, Steph is Desperate for Dick, and falls in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 11:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21301613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penelopes/pseuds/penelopes
Summary: Steph never thought he'd find himself here, kneeling at the end of Klay's bed, being held in place by Klay as he fucks his mouth.But that's what happens when you fall into bed with your best friend and then fall in love with them.
Relationships: Stephen Curry/Klay Thompson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 85





	take me to your holy places

**Author's Note:**

> the slutty bottom energy that steph curry exudes is UNMATCHED!!! and i'm just here doing my civic duty.
> 
> not a part of my civic duty, but bc of my dedication to slutty steph, i created a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/uqh6qru4r87ecoactgi3awo0m/playlist/2Pir7PyfRGKg7f6VfuLDFb?si=ApLMuREASKy5VN7RKTXxQA), if you wanna check that out. it's what i listened to as i worked.
> 
> also, you can find me on tumblr at [collarboen](http://collarboen.tumblr.com) where i do a lot of yelling about basketball and steph curry. come chat!
> 
> please let me know what you think!!
> 
> title from lovin' is bible by the aces

Steph never thought he'd find himself here, kneeling at the end of Klay's bed, being held in place by Klay as he fucks his mouth.

But that's what happens when you fall into bed with your best friend and then fall in love with them. 

Steph is keeping that last part to himself so he doesn't freak Klay out.

-

What they have going on has never been anything more than a casual hookup. They fell into bed together last season on the road and never really stopped doing it. Never really talked about it much either. So casual even that he thinks Klay dates around. Which is _ fine. _But Steph doesn't because he does everything heart first. He's not shocked to realize that he's a bit in love with Klay.

He _ is _ shocked that he's so hot for him all the time too. He's never wanted dick so bad in his life, and the need isn't even satiated after he gets the dick. Klay's dick must be magical or something. _ He _must be magical -- a gift sent from God to Steph. Because all Steph wants to do at any given time is shoot a basketball, get his brains fucked out, or play video games with Klay. Or watch a movie with Klay. Or if he's feeling really gay, walk Rocco down on the beach with Klay at sunset. Which happened only one time and Steph felt so overwhelmed that he had to make up an excuse to get home. There's something about the setting sun lighting up Klay's tan until he's golden while he throws a tennis ball down the beach for his probably asthmatic dog. Steph's heart swelled so big so quickly he thought he might have a heart attack.

So here he is. Getting reamed by and falling in love with Klay Thompson on the regular. It's likely to blow up in his face.

-

It started out as a way to relieve stress after a game. To celebrate a win. Commiserate a loss. And that's what it's been for the most part. Steph's the one who's gone and gotten his feelings involved, but Klay is so good to him that he can't stop. That way lies hurt feelings but also a really good dicking, so what's he supposed to do?

Plus it's the playoffs and Steph can't deny himself Klay Thompson on a good day, but especially not when he's been taking Steph apart after every game like it's his _ job _to wear Steph out so much that he sleeps like a baby.

-

Scoring thirty points but still losing to the Rockets isn't the worst part of the game. It's that paired with the interviews. Questions about the future of the team after back-to-back losses. Can they come back from that? What's he think about what's going on in the Eastern Conference? He can't even think about what's going on in his own head, let alone across the country. 

He answers everyone as best and as politely as he can because he's had enough media training to know better than to let his emotions take control. He's even more keyed up than he usually is after a game though. But that night, when Klay pushes him to his knees and puts his dick in his mouth, it calms something in him. He can't touch Klay; he can't do anything. All he has to do is kneel. And that's _ good. _ That's _ so good. _When Klay binds his wrists or fucks his face, Steph doesn't have to be Steph Curry. He doesn't have to be an NBA player. He's just a guy with sore knees and an empty head. Klay takes him out of his head in a way that only basketball has been able to.

After, lying beside Klay in the dim light from a bedside lamp, the silence should be oppressive, but instead, it's comfortable. Klay turned the AC down to sixty-five and used one of the blankets to bundle Steph into a burrito. Just the type of aftercare Steph needs. He's slowly melting into the mattress. His brain is shutting off. He's not worried about game five or every injury on the roster. He's thinking about grabbing Klay's hand in appreciation, but that would mean breaking out of his blanket burrito and he's too comfortable for all that.

Klay, stretched out beside him, rests his hand on the crown of Steph's head. Maybe he can read Steph's mind.

“You did good,” He says into the quiet. Steph snuffles against the top of the blanket and presses his head back into Klay's touch, a thank you.

-

They make it to the NBA Finals through blood, sweat, tears, and an injury list that feels a mile long. 

Working your ass off, giving literally everything you have, seeing everyone around you giving the exact same effort, and it not being enough is a feeling he's familiar with. But it never gets easier. If anything, it's more agonizing going out the way they did. Everyone's exhausted and _ hurt_; working so hard only to lose takes an emotional and physical toll.

And _ Klay. _Watching him writhe in pain under the net clutching his knee -- it's one of the hardest things Steph has ever had to see. And to then have to keep playing? Keep fighting a losing battle? Half his head wasn't even on the court the last quarter of the game.

It takes longer than he'd like to get to him. He has to get through all the arena staff and team personnel and the trainers before he's even outside the door of the room Klay's in. The adrenaline coursing through his body has nowhere to go so it turns him frantic. He feels like he might vibrate out of his skin.

He tries to compose himself a bit before he goes in. Takes deep breaths in through his nose, out through his mouth.

He knocks once and opens the door enough to poke his head in. “It's me,” He breathes. Then he lets himself in and flips the lock on the door.

Klay's sitting propped up on a training table with his knee wrapped. He looks glassy-eyed and pale from the obvious pain he's in. Steph wants to make it all go away.

He's scared to get too close, but also might combust if he doesn't get his hands on him just to make sure he's okay. Or as okay as he can be.

Klay tries to smile up at him when Steph makes it to his side, but it comes out more like a grimace. His hand nearly dwarfs Steph's when Steph takes a hold of it. The heat from his big sweaty palm pressed against Steph's fingers is calming. Steph can finally breathe a little easier. “You good?” Klay manages, shakily.

Steph huffs. Klay's the one with a knee injury and somehow Steph's the one who needs to be comforted. “Are _ you _ good?” He questions. It's a stupid question, but he feels stupid. He feels _ too much. _He doesn't know what to say or what to do. Klay could be kissing the next season goodbye.

Klay looks at him like he knows Steph knows how dumb that question is. But then he relents. “I will be.” He squeezes Steph's fingers for either his own comfort or Steph's. Steph can't be sure. But he'll take it. He squeezes right back.

“Let me know -- Do you want me to stay?” He fumbles, warring between never wanting to leave Klay's side and also the fear of doing and being too much. Showing his cards too soon.

Klay manages to smile this time, weak and fragile. Steph understands the luxury he's just been afforded. Klay, usually so stoic and reserved, doesn't show fragility for just anyone. “Nah,” he grits. “Get out there. Got a media room to console.”

Steph blows out a deep breath. His head aches just thinking about the media storm he's about to face. He can give the congratulations that the Toronto guys well deserve, the petty gossip from everyone else he can live without. But that's a part of his job. That's what he signed up for. At least he's _ able _to walk out there and face them. He can do it for Klay and KD and Looney. He’ll do it for his team, like always.

“Text me,” He demands. “And I'll come by.” If Klay keeps absently playing with his fingers, he'll never walk away.

“Will do.” Klay says roughly. “Knock ‘em dead.” He finally pulls away. Steph walks away. He feels like there's a demolition crew inside his chest knocking down all the walls around his heart. He's too spent to try to salvage any of them.

-

Ten days after Klay texts him _ ACL tear :( _Steph shows up at Klay’s with the sole intent of sitting on his couch and kicking his ass at Mario Kart. 

He's had time to process his feelings. A lot of that involved wondering how the _ hell _he’s supposed to lead a team toward another championship run without Klay. Klay knows Steph's next shot before he even takes it. And the ball’s always there. He's never going to get that from anyone else. Also who's going to fuck him when they're on the road? WHO. Maybe he can convince Klay to come along as his emotional support dicking. Will front office cover those expenses? Anyway. He's doing great, obviously. 

Because he's an adult who's had time to process, he knows they'll figure something out. They always do. Obviously most of that “processing” was deciding to just ignore everything and keep pushing forward. So he's at Klay's house and he's going to strong arm him into letting Steph take care of him.

Klay doesn't say anything about his unexpected visit. He doesn't kick him out either. He _ does _kick Steph's ass at Mario Kart though.

-

Klay's well on his way to recovery when Steph shows up at his house again a month after his surgery. Klay hobbles to the door looking like Steph's bandaged up wet dream. Scruff and curls for days. Day old sweat lingering on him when Steph pulls him in for a hug. 

There have been some text exchanges. Klay's sent cool pictures from his day at the beach and then his day at the lake and then his day at the spa. Steph's been doing a bit of wallowing in front of his TV and making good use of his Vitamix. He can make _ soup _in it.

He's missed Klay something fierce though. He gets it. Klay lives his own life and he certainly doesn't owe Steph anything, but Steph thinks he's going to lose his mind if he doesn't get SOME attention. And ever the go-getter, he's not afraid to go after it.

He must look increasingly hard up for it, though, standing in Klay's foyer.

“You know I can't really…” Klay trails off, looking at Steph expectantly.

Steph throws his head back when he laughs, exposing the column of his throat. “Man, I'm not here for sex.” Which isn't a _ lie. _He also came because he cares about Klay’s recovery. Obviously. 

But_ Jesus_, Klay sure does have his number, doesn't he. “Besides,” he starts as he pushes past Klay toward the living room. “I can keep still all on my own.”

The sound Steph hears is probably Klay swallowing his tongue. Steph doesn't look back to check.

He ends up on his knees in front of the couch. Klay holds Steph's head down on his cock until tears stream down Steph's face, then he comes down his throat. It's all kinds of hot.

“Didn't come here for sex, huh?” Klay asks, thumbing at the corner of Steph's mouth.

Steph can only smile beatifically up at him, caught out but deeply satisfied.

-

So, between Klay spending time in southern California and having surgery and rehabbing with his trainer, Steph has only seen him a handful of times. That changes with preparation for the new season. Klay, nearly three months into recovery, walks into the shoot around with a literal pep in his step. He's in a good mood; white teeth and candy floss lips when he smiles at everyone. Steph's suddenly all too aware that he's drenched in sweat and smells like a locker room and all he wants is for Klay to notice him. So he can preen under the attention, filthy and worn out and the apple of Klay’s eye.

He's going to have to pray when he gets home. He tries to shake it off. Dribbles twice, makes basket number thirty-two. Doesn't look at Klay again until he's made one hundred threes. It's only ten minutes later, but it's enough of a reprieve that he can feel the ground beneath his feet, sturdy and solid, when he walks over to take a seat.

Klay's standing among a group of rookies; their fresh faces seek approval and guidance, and Klay will give it to them in the off-handed, awkward, genuine way that he does everything else. Steph's already given them the same spiel that coach gave them that their agents gave them that their families gave them -- take advantage of the opportunity they've damn well earned. Keep earning it. Make 'em proud. It's not that simple, but it's a start. Steph is still struggling eleven years later.

There's a bit of hand waving and Klay pulls up the leg of his shorts. Must be talking about his surgery now. Recovery. Physical therapy. It makes Steph's head (and heart) hurt to think about the enormity of the situation. But Klay's here at shoot arounds and practices -- that's something. Even if he isn't active right now, Steph can at least look at him. And from where Steph is sitting, he's got a good view of the back of Klay's thigh; hairy and thick, tan from being in the sun. Steph wants to lay him out and kiss everywhere he's turned golden.

-

Klay's sitting at his locker scrolling through his phone when Steph comes back from his shower after running drills.

It’s only been a few weeks, but just being in the same room with Klay all afternoon has him worked up. Klay still hasn't looked up from his phone -- he's probably playing Mario Kart or watching a dog video or just making Steph wait -- Steph doesn't know. He just knows he's sitting there and Steph is standing here and he's warm from his shower and wants to be over there pressed all up on him. These are trying times.

Well, he does have to go over there to get his stuff. It is his locker Klay's sitting at, after all. When Steph gets closer, Klay looks up and slides his phone into his pocket. "Hey, man," Klay says nonchalantly. Then starts talking about Steph's jump shot like he hasn't seen it literally a million times. 

"Thanks," Steph says, reaching around Klay for his bag. Thank God he's already dressed. If he walked out here in his towel, the sight of Klay alone might have made his towel fall and then Steph would have followed it and then he would've been at the perfect height so it would've just made sense to get his mouth on Klay. Jesus -- and he doesn't say this lightly -- Christ. Get it together, Curry.

"I think you and D'lo have the potential to do some damage this season."

"Potential?" Steph teases. "He's the newly anointed Splash Brother."

Klay snorts, “Already replacing me?" He looks up at Steph and smirks.

Steph's going to lose his mind. Somehow he's migrated fully between Klay's legs. Standing over him, Steph feels his heart in his throat. Wishes it were something else. "Ah, see. Your mistake was thinking you weren't just a placeholder to begin with."

Klay throws his head back with the force of his laugh. Steph breaks out into a grin; he feels warm all over at making Klay laugh like that. He's a marine iguana who sunbathed all day and his reward is a six hour adventure underwater. His reward is a six hour adventure basking in the fact that Klay thinks he's funny. He made Klay _ laugh. _Look at him go.

"DICK," Klay chuckles, clutching his chest.

Steph just smiles watching him come down. Just drinks him in. Big and dumb, tanned and smiling. Steph doesn't realize he's absently running his finger along the top of the scar on his knee until Klay jerks away slightly. Steph instantly snatches his hand away and is halfway through an apology when Klay grabs his hand before he can get too far away. "Tingles, is all," he says, his mouth settling into a small smile. He's playing with Steph's fingers now instead of letting go, and standing here, Steph has the opportunity to look down at Klay instead of always looking up. Newly scarred and newly tanned, but the same guy. Same guy who's got his six. Same guy with the handsome face. Same guy who smells of clean sweat. Same guy who fucks him so well -- like no one else ever has.

As poetic and sincere as Steph could be about Klay's hands and the way he nurtures the rookies -- as happy as he is to have Klay around again -- what he really wants is to get fucked. (Klay has ruined all other sexual partners for him. Admittedly, Klay's only one of two guys he's ever been with and that's probably why he's caught himself stumbling into love. But if he ignores that then there's not an issue.)

Of course there's an issue. 

"Wanna come back to mine?" Steph doesn't have the patience to not ask for what he wants.

Klay stares at him intensely for a moment. His gaze darts down to Steph's mouth and -- yeah -- Steph's got him.

"Let's go," Klay agrees and moves to follow Steph out of the locker room.

-

Laid out across his bed with Klay mouthing at him through his briefs, Steph feels like he's rediscovering religion. It's Wednesday night youth group all over again, trailing his finger across the thin paper as he follows along with the word of God. Except now Klay’s trailing his fingers down Steph’s skin, fingertips leaving bruises like he’s bookmarking his favorite verses. Steph’s body is the scripture and Klay knows every single word. The blasphemy of it makes Steph moan and clench his fingers in Klay’s hair.

Klay grabs Steph’s wrists and squeezes before he pulls away. “Klay,” Steph all but huffs, breath caught up in his chest.

Klay doesn't say anything. Instead he clasps Steph’s wrists together and raises them above Steph’s head to rest on the pillow. “Stay put, big shot,” Klay smirks, mouth red and wet and _ ungodly. _

_ “Klay,” _ Steph whines, which he would be embarrassed about if his brain weren't completely overtaken by how deliriously _ hot _Klay is. The first time Klay put Steph in his place and made him stay, Steph lost his breath and went hot all over. And he's had the same reaction every single time since then. He's likely to always.

“You'll stay?” Klay gets off on it -- well, _ obviously _ he gets off on it. His dick’s just as hard as Steph’s is. But he _ gets off _ on pretending like he doesn't know if Steph is game for something. Steph is _ always _game for Klay holding him down or shoving him around or daring him to move.

“I'll stay,” Steph assures him. The tingles in his fingertips are already setting in. It's exhilarating. It's made even better when Klay twists Steph’s left nipple with one hand, squeezes his dick with the other, and says, “You'll be good?”

Steph's hips involuntarily raise off the bed; his dick flushed and hot in Klay’s huge hand. “Please,” he begs, when Klay doesn't do anything else. Klay laughs not unkindly at him.

After working him over in the two places, Klay finally takes pity on him. He slowly pulls Steph’s briefs off, leaving hot sucking kisses across Steph’s thighs along the way. Steph draws his thighs together unconsciously, desperate to both push in and pull away from the sensation. Klay simply pushes his legs flat against the mattress again and returns to his spot between Steph’s thighs. The casual way Klay arranges him to his liking makes Steph want to call out. A whole litany of words on the tip of his tongue. If he could think properly, he'd start with _ thank you. _

Klay kisses around the base of his cock, then up, until he's tonguing at the slit, licking up precome. The way he slowly takes Steph apart is what usually drives Steph over the edge. The careful way he observes Steph’s dick like it might've changed since the last time he had it in his mouth. The way he pulls back and grossly smacks his lips like he's discerning if the taste is the same. Steph wants to plead that it's _ always _the way Klay left it; Klay’s the only one doing this for him. Instead, he presses his hands into the pillow above his head and doesn't think about anything but the warm heat of Klay’s mouth as he finally sucks Steph down.

He does something with his tongue on the underside of Steph’s cock that turns him to putty, like the bed is swallowing him up. He's steady with it, taking Steph into the back of his throat before pulling nearly all the way off so he can suck on the head. All the while holding Steph apart by his thighs. Long fingers pressing bruises into the supple skin on the inside of his thighs. Something for Steph to admire later and press into when he's jerking off thinking about Klay.

Steph’s breathy and whiny. He radiates heat but feels chilled to the bone as Klay takes pleasure in sucking him off. He feels overwhelmed, thrusting his hips up, no doubt shoving his dick deeper into the tight clutch of Klay’s throat. He whines, “Klay, please.” Breathy, “Can I --”

Klay doesn't ease up on his dick, but he pets across Steph’s hip bone, which has always meant _ yeah, go ahead_. That's all it takes -- Klay saying he can -- and Steph shoots off into Klay’s mouth. He uses what's left of his brain to look down and watch. Klay swallows it all; sweat at his hairline, dark lashes against his cheeks, slick and spit on his red mouth.

“Unnnh,” Steph says eloquently, feeling like his brain has completely turned to mush. Klay lets him slip from his mouth and the cold air hitting his spent dick is a shock to his system. “Ugh,” he manages. He wants to reach out for Klay, pull him up toward him so he can help him out. But Klay hasn't told him he can move yet, so he doesn't.

He doesn't have to though because Klay can really can read his mind, apparently. He gently scoots up the bed, careful of his knee, until all 215 pounds are resting on Steph’s upper half. He's got his dick out, red and hard, pumping it fast. Steph hopes he'll lean forward just a bit and let Steph take him into his mouth. If he doesn't though, it's enough to have Klay worked up, grunting as he fucks his own hand, looking down at Steph, spent and desperate for him.

“Fuck,” Klay groans. He nudges up closer to Steph, his knees pressing against the underside of Steph’s arms, pushing his hands higher up the pillow.

“Do it,” Steph goads, electrified. “Come on, _ do it._” He's still hot for it. Klay is like a weighted blanket keeping him grounded and turned on. Letting him lay there, not having to think about anything but getting Klay to come on him.

Klay leans forward, one hand reaching up and pressing one of Steph’s wrists into the pillow harder. His grip is a vice and Steph moans pitifully. Klay comes then right across Steph's face. Thick white ropes of come across the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, and the corners of his mouth, rolling down his jaw to his throat. Klay’s still making “ah, ah, ah,” noises as he rubs his cock through the come, fucking gently against the hollow of Steph's throat.

Steph feels like he's stepped out of his body a bit. Loose and floaty in the best way. He's panting, his heart in his throat, his heart so full from it all. He darts his tongue out to lick up any come he can get. 

“Ugh,” Klay groans from above him. “You're so hot,” he says quietly, mostly to himself like he's saving this picture for later too. It makes Steph light up inside; a warm glow instead of a forest fire.

He eases his weight off Steph’s chest and lets go of his wrist. It's throbbing; his arms are tingling all over and his fingertips feel weirdly not like his own. Klay reaches up and slowly lowers his arms for him, caressing the soft skin of his biceps and forearms. His touch is feather-light across the bones of Steph’s wrists.

Steph sighs and opens his eyes. No come there, that's good. It's getting a bit tacky everywhere else though. They'll have to do something about it soon, but currently, Steph barely feels like a person. He's not quite sure he knows how to use his arms anymore.

Klay, as always with his big brain, takes care of most of it for him. He swipes a finger through a big rope of come and feeds it into Steph’s mouth, who moans around the digit. He keeps doing it until most of his face is fairly clean and Steph's moaning each time.

“You did good, Steph,” Klay tells him, when he's finished and just cupping the side of Steph’s face. He's big and warm and kind. It's just what Steph needed: to lose himself for a bit, to not have to make decisions or be anyone’s leader. To be put in place, to not have to use his brain. To have Klay turn him to taffy, pulling and stretching at him then taking a fruitful bite.

“Let's get you cleaned up,” Klay says, giving Steph's jaw one last gentle squeeze before pulling away entirely and moving off the bed.

-

Klay wears him out the night he scores forty against the Timberwolves -- not for any specific reason and definitely not in celebration -- it was a preseason game for God's sake -- but just because it's a Thursday night and Steph worked _ hard. _ He _ deserves _to be laid out on his 1000 thread count sheets and fucked within an inch of his life.

When Klay’s done with him, he feels like he played an entire playoff series in one night. He's so wrung out he's pretty positive he's becoming one with the mattress. He touches the crown of Klay’s head where it's pressed against the sweaty skin of Steph’s stomach. “Finals MVP,” Steph says as he catches his breath. 

Klay raises his head just enough to show his patented furrowed brow of confusion. That’s right -- Klay can't _ actually _read his mind. Doesn't know Steph feels like he just played through four game sevens, won, and crowned Klay MVP for the way he took Steph apart and put him back together again.

“Nothing,” Steph chirps around a smirk. Too much energy to try to explain. Too much mush in his brain at the moment.

Klay doesn't give enough of a shit to question him further and that's what Steph loves about him. He flops his forehead back down onto Steph’s stomach and resumes his mission to simultaneously catch his breath and nip at Steph’s navel.

Later Steph will have to shower again to get the layer of new sweat and dried come off him. Later he'll think about the regular season, and how the hell he's going to do this without Klay. But, for now, he's happy to palm the back of Klay’s head, bask in the ache of his wrists from Klay holding him in place, and doze off to the sound of Klay’s breathing.

-

Steph wakes up to the sound of his Vitamix trying to vibrate off his kitchen counter. Even a story up and a bedroom door away, he knows that sound. He also knows Klay isn't in bed with him, but he blindly reaches behind him anyway. Klay’s manning the Vitamix, not a ghost it seems. Steph turns over into the cold spot Klay left behind and buries his face into his pillow. It doesn't smell like him or anything; it's just his usual laundry detergent. But there's a comfort in doing it, and he's ready to deny it until he's blue in the face.

He’ll doze for a few more minutes and maybe in that time Klay will have come back to bed with a smoothie to share.

-

Klay does come back upstairs with two big smoothies. “Breakfast of Champions,” he says, and hands one to Steph. Steph takes it and budges over when Klay makes to climb back in bed.

“Thanks, man,” mumbles Steph around the rim of his glass. It's heavy on the blueberry. His favorite.

“Gotta keep our star player in tip-top shape. Especially when I'm not there to pick up the slack.” Klay’s teasing is undermined by his smoothie-stache.

“Go to hell.” Steph shoves Klay's shoulder but not enough to make him spill the purple smoothie all over his sheets. They can't lay around in bed all day if there's smoothie everywhere.

Klay doesn't usually stay long -- if he spends the night at all. He certainly doesn't make Steph a breakfast smoothie or lounge around all day. So it's a bit unusual. Klay's usually pretty chill but this is somehow Not Chill. This is Klay Lying in Bed With Intent. An intent to cuddle and watch YouTube videos with Steph all day.

His heart is in his throat all morning as he lies beside Klay. His big warm body like a heater in the mild weather. Klay laughs so hard at a video of a dog on a scooter that he snorts and Steph fears he might asphyxiate. Then fears that he might not get to hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life. Then he wants to kick his own ass for being so dramatic.

Maybe this isn't just screwing around with the second best shooter in the NBA. Maybe this is more than that. That's terrifying for a lot of reasons. Number one being that Steph doesn't know whether Klay's looking for that from him. Klay gets around. Or, well. Klay used to get around; he had a lot of fun -- something Steph won't ever fault him for. Steph used to sit back while Draymond pulled girls at clubs and Klay covertly got guys’ numbers. And Klay's never been in a relationship in the eight years that Steph has known him, especially not in the last year they've been fooling around. But. _ Maybe _Klay wants to date around officially which is like. Fine. He can do what he wants. Steph doesn't ever want him to feel like he can't. (Steph also doesn't want to get hurt. He feels like he might be halfway there already though.)

-

Which is why he stupidly encourages Klay to go on a date with some business consultant called Marc that's a friend of Klay's friend. Steph doesn't _ know, _ God. He sounds boring, but even Steph can admit that he looks handsome in his profile picture. 

He wants Klay to do whatever he wants. And if what he wants is to do whomever he wants then Steph wants him to do that. He's a _ supportive _friend with benefits like that.

Klay's eyebrows do the thing and he says, “yeah, maybe,” in a small voice. Steph doesn't know what that's about.

-

Klay apparently _ does _go on a date with Marc the Consultant which he doesn't hear about until after it's over. Which is also fine.

He wants to die when he overhears Klay telling Draymond about his date after practice. Apparently he grew up near Klay so isn't that cool. And drives a cool sports car and has hands the size of basketballs. _ Klay's _ hands are the size of basketballs. If he's so into hands that big why doesn't he just _ look at his own. _

Steph doesn't scoff or roll his eyes as he walks by them in the hallway near the trainers’ offices, but it's a near thing. He doesn't say anything because he's scared what would come out would reveal him as the petty bitch that he feels like.

He walks with his head down, breathing heavy from his own shooting drills after practice. Draymond’s mouthing off about something stupid by the time Steph is out of ear shot anyway.

He's got a season opener to worry about in a few days. He doesn't have time to think about how _ not _boring Marc the Consultant is.

-

Kay catches up with him in the locker room. Steph finds that his guard is usually down every time he's in the locker room with Klay.

He's rummaging through his bag for a change of clothes when he can't help but ask, “So, how's Bart the Consultant?” He cringes as soon as he says it. He's showing his stupid cards. He continues going through his bag so he doesn't have to face Klay.

“Come on, man,” Klay laughs quietly. His fingers poking Steph in the back startles him. “We're good, yeah?”

Steph looks over his shoulder at him. Klay squeezes the muscle under his shoulder blade and gives him that sweet smile. There's a tornado in Steph's chest knocking everything off its foundation.

He sighs, “Yeah. Peachy.”

“Steph --” And the way he says his name with equal parts worry and kindness makes Steph crazy. He doesn't want to hear what he might say.

“I promise,” he cuts him off.

Klay nods, obviously not satisfied with that response, but knows that's all Steph's willing to give him. “I'll see you later?” He asks, pulling away and taking a step back.

“I'll text you,” Steph redirects. He grabs his stuff and heads to the showers.

-

He doesn't text Klay. It's not because he doesn't want to. He wants to text him, tell him to come over, ask how rehab’s going, but every time he nearly does it, he thinks about Marc the Consultant. Wonders if they've gone on another date. If Klay's taken him to bed yet. Has Marc the Consultant gotten to taste the inside of Klay's mouth? Has he peeled Klay's compression shorts off? Have they played Mario Kart? Has he met Rocco?

Steph knows he's overthinking things -- it hasn't even been two weeks, after all. But Klay -- love -- has made him dumb. And he did it to himself is what's the worst part.

He sees Klay around the gym over the next few days, but he gets away with minimum contact. Their conversations are stilted, awkward, like they've never been. Steph _ hates _it. 

Then the first game of the season comes around and, _ boy_, does he see him. Steph nearly brains himself on the door to the locker room when he first catches sight of him. He's already in the room talking to Poole. He's dressed in a fitted black suit, the collar of his white dress shirt open just enough that Steph can see the hollow of his throat. He wants to shove his face in it and mewl like a fucking cat. Oh God, he's so _ hot. _ He wants to pull off every bit of clothing he's wearing then pull _ him _off right here in the locker room.

Jesus. He's got a game to play. He tries to direct all of his pent up energy into pulling out a win against the Clippers. Or at the very least not looking like a group thrown together in the G League.

They don't win which is surprising to no one. It's not discouraging. They played arguably the best team in the Western Conference. If anything, they have a better understanding of the areas in which they need to improve. Steph hates to think about it, but there are a lot of areas.

It's easy for him to get lost in his head. He tries to remain level-headed, but it's not always the easiest to do. And Klay's not there to help him take his mind off the loss, which. You know. Is fine. Because Steph made his bed and now he has to lie in it. 

He goes home and promptly falls asleep, sleeping like the dead for ten hours. Then he's up, thinking about working in a two-a-day. Doing his best not to think about Klay. And how he's basically ruined a good thing because he got his heart involved and his stupid mouth got him in trouble. Who knew trying to save himself some heartbreak would just expedite it instead.

Steph fucking didn't.

-

When Draymond’s annual Halloween party rolls around, Steph is so hard up for some dick and emotional vulnerability that he can't see straight. Ha, see straight.

He's not in the best place. He's fed up from losing and the media trash talk and being miserable and alone and not playing with Klay and also _ Klay_.

Thinking about Klay is like picking at a scab; it's a self-inflicted wound, but it hurts no less. He hasn't talked to Klay since that day in the locker room; they've been fumbling around each other at the facility. They definitely haven't fucked, which is secondary to the gaping hole Steph feels in his chest.

He hasn't heard more about Marc the Consultant, but that doesn't really mean anything. Because one, he'd have to have talked to Klay to know anything new. And two, it's not like Klay was parading _ Steph _ around when they were screwing. Klay's business is Klay's business alone. But that doesn't stop Steph from thinking up a million things Klay and Marc the Consultant have done together. He feels petty and bitchy every time he thinks about them. Something ugly and hurt has bloomed in his chest in the past week or so. He hates it, but he's weak in the face of jealousy’s hold on him.

(Taylor Swift _ did _say love makes you crazy. And if it doesn't, you're not doing it right. He's made a playlist. It's a whole thing.)

-

When Klay shows up LATE, Steph has had one whole mixed drink and enough time to be pissed. How rude to show up late to his best friend’s party.

Draymond gives him crazy eyes when he bitches to him about it. “Bro, what the fuck is wrong with you?” He thinks Steph has lost his mind. Fair assessment.

“Just saying,” Steph scoffs, “if he's going to show up looking like a lazy vampire, the least he could do is be on time.” He looks good. So good it makes Steph’s blood boil. He's imagining Klay holding him down and saying something like, “I vant to suck your blood.” So embarrassing.

_ He's alone_, his treacherous brain reminds him. Klay came alone. It doesn't mean anything.

“Bro…” Draymond drawls before slowly backing away. He doesn't give a shit about Steph's petty, grade school bullshit. Yeah, buddy, Steph wishes he could walk away too. 

He needs another drink.

-

"Nice costume," Steph says around a cherry sucker when he meets Klay in a hallway leading to one of many bathrooms. He's been hoarding candy in his pockets so he has something to distract himself from catching Klay's eye in every room. See how much good that did him.

"Yeah, and who the fuck are you supposed to be?" Klay retorts. 

Steph, propped up against the wall, gestures down to his costume. He's very clearly a priest. It's obvious, but Klay's just being a dick. Something burns hot in Steph at having his attention all to himself even if it's about something stupid and petty. "Like what you see?"

Klay, like Steph, isn't one to get angry very easily or for very long, but Steph can tell he's prodded just enough. Good.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" And Steph knows, but he can't say it.

"You make me stupid!" Steph spits. Klay looks perplexed. God, he's probably so confused. Because Steph is a _ lunatic_. He can't help it; Klay makes him dumb. He's never been a sore loser. He's always been able to make good of a situation. But not this, it seems. He doesn't know how to make good when he has royally screwed it up. 

"What are you talking about, Steph? We were_ fine. _ Whatever this is, you did it.” He gestures to the space between them. Steph KNOWS THAT. He _ knows_. And Klay doesn't have time for it. Steph's just an annoying blip in an otherwise fantastic night for him. He's probably going to meet up with Marc the Consultant after this.

Whatever has been boiling in Steph for weeks rears its ugly head. "Why don't you go on home, Klay. Marc the Consultant’s probably missing you, huh?"

He does it for the reaction. He feels two inches tall and ashamed, but he gets what he asked for. Klay has had his number since day one, so he knows just what to say to get under Steph's skin. He never does because their relationship has always been built on mutual respect and admiration for the game and each other. That's not the case right now. Steph's run that into the ground.

"You jealous?" Klay taunts. Steph feels caught out and red all over.

"You know I am," Steph accuses, pushing off the wall and into Klay's space.

"Why?" Klay asks. His brow is doing that pinched thing; his whole forehead etched in confusion and despair. Steph hates it.

He feels something ugly and selfish take hold of him. "Does he mind as well as I do?" Steph bites. The words taste nasty and pathetic in his mouth. He's showing all of his cards. He _ is _pathetic, and Klay doesn't deserve this. But jealousy is an ugly monster telling him Marc now has what he had just weeks ago. (Klay was never really his though, was he?)

Klay steps closer and everything else falls away. It's just the wall behind him and the solid warmth of Klay at his front. "What are you doing, Stephen?"

Hearing his full name on Klay's lips makes him hot under the collar -- literally. He pauses. "Take me home," he counters. What _ is _ he doing? Something stupid. 

Klay's eyes search his in the dim orange and red lights of Halloween decor. Steph licks his lips in case Klay can see the movement. His eyes flit all over Steph's face once more in contemplation.

"Let's go," he says suddenly, turning away without a second glance. Steph pops the sucker back into his mouth and follows him.

-

Inside Klay's foyer, Klay has Steph pressed up against another wall. He's licking the cherry taste out of Steph's mouth. Steph feels electrified down to his toes.

Steph moans into his mouth and pulls away. "Where's your boy at tonight?" He asks snottily. 

"Do you ever listen?" Klay retorts meanly. "Or are you working too hard at being pretty to use that big brain of yours properly?" Ugh, he's so hot when he's annoyed.

Klay reaches around to undo the cheap velcro holding Steph's clerical collar together. Steph stops him with his hands on Klay's forearm. "What?" He asks, further confirming Klay's assessment that he can't be both pretty and smart.

"I didn't bring Marc because I'm not seeing him anymore. And he wasn't my fucking boyfriend to begin with," Klay spits, clearly annoyed with Steph, but also turned on. Well, Klay's not the only one.

Steph puffs up at that, indignant. "I didn't know."

"Yeah," Klay scoffs. He reaches down and pulls Steph's black dress shirt out of his pants before undoing his belt. "Because you don't listen. I explained earlier to Draymond. You were there."

The way he scolds Steph and slides his hands into his pants to grab Steph's hard cock without faltering makes Steph weak in the knees. He slumps against Klay's chest getting his collarbone damp with his breath.

"Well. I'm listening now. What are you going to do to me?" Steph pleads, weak and horny and desperate and jealous and outraged.

Klay snorts and pulls his hand out of Steph's pants. "I'm going to take you to bed." Which means _ whatever I want. _

-

And he does. But he does it slowly. There's a new intensity in the way he moves, but he's taking his time. 

He screws up into Steph with two fingers, but instead of making quick work of it, he makes Steph beg for more. The tips of his fingers rub against Steph's prostate each time he thrusts into him. It feels like forever that he does it. Steph watching Klay watching his fingers disappear into him. 

His hole aches from the stretch of it at first, but then from the wanton desire for more. He wants three fingers, he wants four. He wants Klay's cock to spread him open wide. He wants to feel him in his gut.

"Klay," he whines, reaching blindly for Klay's other hand beside him on the bed. "Please. Fuck me," he begs. He's not above begging, not when it makes Klay's eyes darken like that and he gets what he wants.

Lube runs down from his hole messily when Klay pulls his fingers out. He wipes them across the thick expanse of Steph's thigh like he just needs a place to clean off his hand and Steph happens to be there. It's so hot that Steph thinks he might black out. Getting used like that by Klay? His wildest dream come true.

After Klay slicks himself up, he knees up between Steph's thighs, knocking them open wider. He always did like Steph laid bare for the taking. Steph can't help the moan that escapes him when Klay first slides in; his body working to accommodate his girth. When Klay bottoms out, he drops his head to Steph's collarbone and breathes out shakily. It feels momentous, like a fixed point for their future -- whatever may come of it. He'll always remember the way Klay bottoms out and mumbles, "you're so good," against the damp skin of Steph's collarbone.

Steph palms the back of Klay's head and takes it when Klay fucks into him over and over again. Klay's holding him in place this time. There's no hand around his wrists or the firm demand that he stay put. It's Klay's hot body on top of his, grounding him as he fucks into him until he's coming, leaving Steph wet, messy, and turned on.

Klay stays put while he catches his breath. It's only a moment before he's pulling out and making quick work of Steph. It won't take long; Steph feels like a puddle of mush. He's been worked over emotionally and physically and his dick has been hard since Klay backed him into the wall at Draymond's party. Steph comes embarrassingly quickly all over himself and Klay's hand. Klay doesn't move to get a wet towel, but he does reach over the side of the bed and grab a shirt to clean Steph up. Steph is mortified to see that it's the dress shirt from his priest costume.

"Sluttiest priest I've ever met," Klay says shockingly, wiping come off his hand. It's the first thing he's said in hours that feels normal. Poking fun at Steph in the satisfyingly hot way that Steph likes so much.

Steph buries his face in his hands and laughs crazily. Klay falls back on the bed beside him. His laugh is loud in the quiet of the room before it peters out and there's sobering silence. After what feels like hours but is surely only tens of minutes, Klay rolls over toward Steph, two-thirds asleep. "I can't anymore," he mumbles. Steph intends to ask what he means by that, but he falls asleep too.

-

He wakes up a few hours later to early morning fog. He's alone in Klay's bed, but through the balcony door, he can see Klay outside. He rolls out of bed, feeling a good twinge between his legs. He finds his boxers and steals one of Klay's shirts before he makes his way out onto the balcony. The air is crisp, but Klay is leaning against the railing only wearing boxers, so Steph's not the only idiot around. Klay hasn't acknowledged him, so Steph sidles up behind him and bravely slides his arms around Klay's middle. Klay neither dislodges him nor does he reciprocate. After a moment, Steph pulls away and takes in the view. It's all grey; in the summer, the view is sickeningly beautiful. Now though, with the cold air and the wet fog, it feels as heavy as the moment. 

Klay still hasn't said anything and won't look at him. Steph has the sinking feeling he's ruined things beyond repair. If the team's legacy suffers it'll be because Steph Curry opened his legs for Klay Thompson but was too scared to open up his heart too.

Steph knows he'll have to be the one to speak first. Klay's stubborn like that and also Steph is completely aware that he was a jerk the night before. "Sorry about things with Marc," Steph begins, hoping he can mend that bridge before he tackles the Golden Gate-sized one he burned between their hearts.

Klay scoffs. "No, you're not."

Steph can't argue with that, but he tries again. "I'm sorry that I'm not sorry about you and Marc."

Klay drops his head between his shoulders and laughs humorlessly. 

"Klay," Steph tries again. He can barely swallow around the lump in his throat. "Why didn't things work out with you and Marc the Consultant?"

Klay looks at him then. Just a glance before he looks away. Quietly, "I could tell it wasn't ever going to be anything serious."

"Why not?" Steph asks back just as quietly.

Klay stands up straight and sighs angrily. Like he's angry with Steph, but also with himself. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you? Jesus." He takes a breath. "Marc the Consultant isn't you, Steph."

Steph feels like he's been hit in the chest with a basketball from full court. "Wait, what." 

Klay scoffs. It seems like it's hard for him to keep going, and Steph wishes he didn't have to, but he's really having trouble understanding. "Did you really not realize what we were doing here? Did you think that you were just some easy lay?"

Okay, Steph knows he's easy, but he thinks he gets what Klay's saying. "I thought. I don't -- MAYBE?"

Klay looks a bit hurt at that and quickly turns away. Steph's _ sorry_. He's an idiot.

Steph pulls on his arm to get him to face him again. "Klay -- I. You've never dated anyone! That's why I pushed the Marc thing! How was I supposed to know I was any different?"

Klay looks at him like it pains him to do so. Or like it pains him to deal with someone who's so dumb. "I've been dating YOU for the past year!" 

He feels a dump truck-sized weight land on his chest. "I didn't -- I didn't _ realize_. I didn't realize you were dating me. Why didn't you _ say anything?_” He demands. Flames are licking up the walls of his chest cavity. He thinks he may explode.

“The same reason _ you _didn't,” Klay says defensively, hurt.

“I was scared of getting hurt,” he admits; he's so confused by being thrown for such a loop. Then quietly, "I wanted to be dating you too."

"Wanted?" Klay presses, gaze stone cold. He's given up a lot of himself this morning. Steph feels sick from putting him through the wringer.

Steph's eyes widen and he grabs a hold of Klay's forearm. "Want. I want to be with you." He feels like his chest has been cracked wide open. His heart is beating a mile a minute. Klay's seen his ugly and his dumb and his desperate and still wants him. That's love, huh.

Klay steps closer, his cold toes bumping into Steph's. There are sparklers in Steph's fingertips. Here's that emotional vulnerability he has been craving.

He's taking too long to respond. "Well, do you want to be with me too? Officially?" He rolls his eyes at himself. His insides feel warm. A forest fire in his chest. 

Klay cups either side of his face with his too big hands. The fit is annoyingly perfect. Klay nods once and says, "Hold still, okay?"

Steph, with his hands resting on Klay's wrists, holds still.

Klay kisses him and every inch of him turns golden.

-

After a while of Klay pressing him against the railing to kiss him senseless, they head back inside. They were starting to lose feeling in their feet from the cold. Klay was keeping his mouth warm for him like a champ.

In the kitchen, they throw together breakfast. Half a pound of bacon and all the eggs in Klay's refrigerator. The smell of brewing coffee fills the room and Steph's lungs. Klay fiddles with the eyes on the stove until he's got everything cooking. He's a master with the spatula. Is this what it could be like every morning?

Every few minutes Klay cuts his eyes over and smiles at Steph who's sitting on the counter like a heathen. He can't believe he's gone longer than a _ day _not seeing Klay smile. He's got some making up to do.

His chest feels full again, but not with ugly rage. It's clouds or cotton candy; he feels light but filled up. He wants to get on his knees for Klay, but he also wants to do it with his heart too.

Wants to lay himself bare, say _ this is what I got. I'm in it for the long haul. _

Maybe he will, but currently Klay is burning bacon and cursing to himself as he tries to get it on some plates. Steph belly laughs at his struggle.

“Fuck off,” Klay bitches. “I don't see you doing any better.”

And Steph beams, because that's the truth. He's going to sit on the counter top and do absolutely nothing until Klay tells him to. Maybe he'll even feed Steph some bacon. There's a thought.

He does bring the finished breakfast over to where Steph’s sitting. He hands Steph a plate and sets his down beside Steph's hip. “You can make your own coffee,” Klay chirps around a bite of eggs.

Steph loves him so much his heart hurts. “In a minute,” assures Steph. He sets his plate down and reaches out for Klay. He protests leaving his food, but still comes when Steph pulls him to stand between his legs.

“No one's ever been so good to me,” he admits quietly. Looking at Klay's big beautiful face up close is in the top three best things he gets to do. Klay's long lashes look like bruises on his cheeks when he closes his eyes.

“I just. Wanted you to know that.” Steph leans forward to rest his forehead against Klay's. “You've been so good to me.”

Klay captures his mouth in a dizzying kiss, pressing a whine into Steph's mouth. He kisses back with everything he has, opening up for Klay in new ways. 

He tastes a bit like sleep and burnt bacon, but Steph wants to fucking crawl in him and live there. Klay presses him back until his head knocks into a cabinet, but that doesn't stop him. The small hurt blooms across the back of Steph's head and slowly lights his whole body on fire. Klay's hands are on his hips, squeezing intermittently at the skin there. It makes Steph keen, spread his legs wider, and press up against any available part of Klay. God, he wants him so bad.

“Please,” Steph pleads against Klay's mouth. “_Please_.”

He thinks Klay's going to take pity on him when he pulls away. Instead he pats Steph's hip and smirks. “Breakfast is getting cold.”

Steph drops his head back against the cabinet and groans. The sound of Klay laughing at him goes straight to his dick.

He'll eat his food, then he'll shower, then he'll convince Klay to eat him out. He doesn't think it'll actually take much convincing, but he's willing to beg for it if he has to.

-

When they're putting their dishes away -- Steph ate his cold eggs and didn't complain -- he hears the tell tale signs of a dog’s nails clicking on hardwood floor. And sure enough, Rocco comes barreling into the kitchen from wherever he's been sleeping all morning, and runs head first into Steph's legs.

“Whoaaaa, buddy.” He crouches down to give Rocco some good pets. It's been a minute and he's missed him. "I missed you, pal." Rocco nuzzles against his cheek.

He chats for a minute with Rocco, and when he looks up, Klay's looking down at him with a fond smile that takes up his whole face. Steph can only smile back. 

It's going to be a good year. A good life. Especially with these two at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, and hopefully commenting/leaving kudos!
> 
> you can reblog it [here](https://collarboen.tumblr.com/post/188798283835/take-me-to-your-holy-places-stephen-curryklay)!


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